


Londinium

by incandescent (lmeden)



Category: Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Gen, Yuletide, Yuletide 2015, slight gore references, slight mythology references, slight references to actual writing, slight use of words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:43:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5443730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmeden/pseuds/incandescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The best thing about being dead, Anaesthesia thought, was the quiet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kastaka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kastaka/gifts).



The best thing about being dead, Anaesthesia thought, was the quiet. She crouched on the rocks below the Night’s Bridge and peered up. Her feet were damp with water dripping from the rocks, and she was sure they’d begun to smell. High above, the Bridge itself appeared a child’s toy.

“What do you think, Master Longtail?” she whispered. “Will they cross today?” 

A small crowd had been gathered by the edge of the Night’s Bridge for several days, growing smaller and larger as people left and returned. Anaesthesia couldn’t really see them, but she could see something else – a little light that shone at the center of their hearts. She’d seen it since she had died, but wasn’t sure about it. Frowning, she laid her hand on her own chest, emptied of that little golden glow. The gesture just reminded her of the necklace she’d lost in that fateful crossing, and her frown deepened.

The rat by Anaesthesia’s feet rose up on his hindquarters, whiskers twitching as he thought. 

The dying itself had been horrible, of course. It had felt something like having your stomach pulled through the center of your pupils, she’d imagined. The shadows had wrenched all her worst memories out of her, and she’d spent days retching drily before she realized that there was nothing left in her to throw up. She was empty. 

The crushing darkness had plucked her from the Night’s Bridge and sent her tumbling through nothingness so cold it burned her bones; it had hurt _so bad_ , being ripped out of herself and pushed into a new plane of existence. But Anaesthesia had learned long ago that there was no sense in lingering in the past. 

Being dead didn’t hurt – not one tiny bit, in or out. After several weeks in the darkness with no one but herself for company, the memory of her death had started to fade, leaving her quite bored. 

The problem was that Anaesthesia had absolutely _nothing_ to do.

No matter how loud she called out, her voice didn’t echo back. No matter how many rocks she tried to throw, she couldn’t lift a single one. She could speak to Master Longtail, but she was never sure he really understood; his replies were fragmented and often wandering. He was a better companion than none.

Much better.

Anaesthesia had always loved rats. They were sleek things, with sharp teeth and claws. She’d admired them from a distance in London Above, watching with innocent, wondering eyes. Once she’d found London Below, she’d learned to love rats for their true power. In the darkness, she was blind, but the rats? They could _see_. 

They could even see her, insubstantial ectoplasm she’d become and all.

Crouching by a tumble of bricks half-hidden in the shadows, Anaesthesia consulted her friend. 

“What news?” she whispered, keeping her voice low. There were things in London Below that she wasn’t keen on alerting to her presence. 

Longtail crouched on top of a jagged piece of rocked, twitching his nose at her. Ever since she’d died, it had become easier and easier to hear the language the rats spoke. 

Tonight she was shocked by what she heard. “That one?” she hissed incredulously. “ _He_ was the one to kill the Beast?” The Beast of London was only rumors – stories told to frighten little children and innocent upworlders. Anaesthesia had never really believed in it – she should have know better, for any story told often enough is wont to come true. 

Master Longtail squeaked confirmation. All amazement, Anaesthesia turned and cast her gaze up towards the Night’s Bridge. The Bridge had a liminal light, glowing amidst the darkness. Her preternatural gaze picked out the carved crenellations and the shadows that lurked beneath, ready to spring out and entrap unworthy travelers. 

Down here, far below the actual bridge, she was surrounded by shadows. If she squinted and tilted her head at just the right angle, Anaesthesia could see the soft glow of souls trapped within the bones that littered the rocks around her. They seemed to quiver with fear amidst the darkness. She pitied them, just as she pitied the people who passed across the bridge above, flames glowing at the heart of them, only to be caught by the shadows and snuffed out. So few survived the crossing, the ones who glowed brightest in her eyes. Maybe that was why she had died, Anaesthesia considered. She simply hadn’t been bright enough. 

Longtail asked a question, his claws making sharp noises against the rock. 

“I don’t know,” she replied. “What do you think?”

Apparently he was very impressed with the young man, and rightly proud of his own role in leading the second Hunter down into London Below, showing him the way. She too should be proud, she was told. 

“I am,” she whispered, without feeling it. 

Of course, what this Richard had done was impressive. Terrifyingly so. Anaesthesia couldn’t imagine facing a creature like the Beast, standing face to face with its snarling might. She hadn’t even been able to face her own shadows.

Anaesthesia sighed, wrapped her arms around herself, and listened to Master Longtail recount – with all the fervor of one who hadn’t set so much as a single claw near the battlefield – how Richard Mayhew had slain the Great Beast of London. 

 

-

 

Some time later (Anaesthesia’s sense of time was, at this point, too shaky to be worth much of anything), Master Longtail was telling her about a treasure hoard he’d found beneath a cellar in Hoxton when Anaesthesia glanced up and saw that the crowd near the Bridge had increased in size. 

“Oh!” She started up and strode forward through the bones. Watching a crossing was better even than the rats’ stories about their adventures. “Master Longtail, come see! They’re going to cross!”

The rat dove from his perch and wove through the labyrinth of bones to keep up. His claws skittered across femurs and metatarsals and sent them scattering across the rocks. 

The people above formed a great group, a dozen or more. The flames at their hearts were wild and bright, and Anaesthesia tried to sort them out. It was such a big group. Could they have come together in order to cross safely? Why were they crossing _here_? Surely they were enough that they could go around and risk the Hyde Park crossing. Soon enough, she saw: part of the larger group split off, just three or four souls walking toward the Bridge and pausing at the edge. The larger party had been a send-off, a farewell for the few. 

Anaesthesia halted and looked up. Who was crossing, that might have such friends, but also desperate enough to risk the Night?

“What do you think?” Anaesthesia asked Master Longtail. “Could it be a Lord or Lady? Or an execution?” She heard that once, long ago, the Night’s Bridge had served as a trial of penance – if you survived the crossing, you were forgiven by the night; if you did not finish the crossing, well enough. 

Anaesthesia didn’t worship the Night, so she didn’t really understand. Why would people use the terror that came from the shadows to wean out the brightest and strongest? Rat-speaking was enough of a holy mystery for her. Suddenly fond, she reached down and Master Longtail leapt into her hand, using the fabric of her clothes to climb up to perch on her elbow. Perhaps that isn’t what happened – maybe he simply made the leap and missed, passing right through her body and landing amongst the bones – but this is what Anaesthesia likes to believe happened. The warm, sleek weight of a rat pressed against her shoulder was an eternal comfort to the girl. 

She looked up toward the Bridge, the slim supports that held it above this abyss, and waited for their first steps. 

She had seen crossings several times by now; when the walkers began their journey, the shadows would come, creeping out from beneath the Bridge and the air above, coalescing into a dark mass. For a few moments, all of the lights would vanish, and only a few would emerge at the other side of the Bridge. 

Even she, with her undead vision, couldn’t see through the Night. At least, she hadn’t yet.

Anaesthesia was determined to get a good look, to actually see what happened when the Night’s Bridge claimed a sacrifice for its own. 

“Are they moving yet?” she asked Master Longtail in a nervous whisper. 

His whiskers twitched a denial. Anaesthesia hissed. Couldn’t they move just a little faster?

High above, the lights of the souls on the edge of the Night’s Bridge shifted closer to one another, then further apart. After another moment of movement, back and forth, left and right, one light peeled away from the rest and stepped toward the Bridge. Anaesthesia sucked in a sharp breath. 

“ _No_. He’s goin’ to go alone!” 

Master Longtail’s claws dug into her shoulder in response. 

Anaesthesia blinked up at the little light as it moved closer and closer to the Bridge. Just as the shadows began to twitch, scenting the air, her vision blurred. She rubbed her eyes and squinted, but the sensation grew only worse, and soon the entire world spun around her. 

“Anaesthesia.”

Who was that saying her name? Stumbling back, Anaesthesia fell to her knees in a crouch, blinked three times, and found her vision cleared. But everything else was changed. 

No longer was she standing far below the Night’s Bridge looking up – now she was at its lip, darkness closing in around her, and people watching her. No, not her. They were watching _him_. Anaesthesia looked up at the man who strode past her.

He was taller than she remembered, a confidence she’d never seen before in his gaze. He wore a jacket that was at least three size too big for him, which gathered shadows to it and made him seem grand. Darkness clung to the skin beneath his eyes and the beginnings of a patchy beard had sprouted on his jawline. The fire in the middle of his sparked brighter than any she’d yet seen.

Richard Mayhew paused on the edge of the Night’s Bridge. “Anaesthesia,” he said a second time (for now that she heard his voice again, she knew that it was the one she’d heard before), “This is for you. Forgive me for getting you killed.”

She jerked, the sound of her name yanking her bodily to his side. With a yelp she sprang back, putting some space between them. “What are you doing?” she shrieked into his ear. 

He didn’t hear her. Richard turned and looked straight through her, toward the people he’d come with. They were a motley group, and watched him hungrily. He lifted a hand, opened his mouth, and then stopped. Teeth clacking shut, he turned to face the Bridge and took in a sharp breath. 

“Richard,” Anaesthesia whispered. _What_ did he think he was doing? To risk the Night’s Bridge crossing a second time…

As Richard Mayhew stepped out onto the Night’s Bridge, Anaesthesia felt a tug somewhere between her belly and her spine drawing her forward and so she followed, tied to him by the sound of her name. 

 

-

 

The second crossing of the Night’s Bridge was never the same as the first. This was something true for any individual who crossed twice, but for Anaesthesia it was more true than usual. For her, _everything_ was different, and she spent the entire trip gaping wildly around and following behind Richard. 

As the shadows sensed him and gathered, Anaesthesia saw them properly for the first time. 

From below, the Night’s Bridge was a beautiful abstraction arching across an abyss. When the shadows gathered, they appeared as tattered remnants, disparate and broken. From here, the world was different. With her dead eyes, Anaesthesia saw through the shadows to the shapes that shifted within them – the faces of terror and rage that seethed within. When the shadows brushed against her, she felt an echo of those emotions pass over her, sharp and bitter. An echo of her own memories from long ago. The things within the shadows did not glow, so she knew they were not souls, but something much more twisted. 

Anaesthesia pressed close to Richard, pushing herself against his living warmth and the glow of his soul. She felt him stiffen more and more, the further he walked, and felt bad for him. What horrors were shaping themselves before him. He could feel the terror of this place, but he didn’t know why. She whispered in his ear, “It’s okay. Don’t listen to them. Just keep walking.”

He couldn’t hear her, but he continued walking. His steps slowed until it seemed that the next one would never come, and Anaesthesia wondered for a moment whether, if he did stop, she would be trapped on this bridge forever, chained to the frozen figure of the man who’d gotten her killed. 

“ _Richard_ ,” she hissed. He was barely moving now, and Anaesthesia was beginning to _seriously_ worry. On an impulse, she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight. “One foot in front of the other.”

He straightened a bit and blinked blearily in her direction. She gave him a small smile of encouragement, and was utterly stunned when he smiled back. 

Every step after that was a relief to Anaesthesia. The darkness around them left no room for thought or vision. It pressed in with a weight even she could feel, dead as she was. 

_Give up_ , the Night whispered to them. _You’ll never get to the other side. You’re just a failure. Weak. No matter what you do, you’ll never succeed._

The whispers carried darker things, too, images from Anaesthesia’s dreams. She felt them slip past her, unable to stick to her ephemeral form. She remembered those nights when she’d cried herself to sleep, shivering on a streetcorner. When the food she’d eaten had been so spoiled that it made her insides feel like she was boiling. When they’d screamed at her, and hurt her deeper, faces twisted into contorted masks by their hate. 

What must Richard be seeing? She couldn’t tell, but she knew by the sight and feel of him that the darkness was eating away at him, acid devouring him from the inside out. She wrapped her ghostly arms tighter, until she could see the fabric of his jacket through her own skin. 

_Just keep going, Richard. You can do it. We’re almost there._

Those last few moments felt like an eternity. They stretched on as Richard stumbled, fighting through the memories and whispers that plagued him. Anaesthesia could feel the hunger coming from the darkness, sharp and devouring. It wanted him, but she wasn’t about to allow that. 

Finally, Richard stumbled off the Night’s Bridge. The darkness pulled back from him and he fell to his knees, sucking in a deep breath of air. 

Anaesthesia let him go and leapt around him. “You did it!” she cried. She could have shaken him, she was so happy. 

She smiled at him, but his eyes went straight through her, blindly searching for something. She turned to look over her shoulder, but no one was there. His gasp brought her back around, a great wracked sound, and to her shock Anaesthesia saw that he was crying. 

His face crumpled and he buried it in his hands. 

Anaesthesia sat back on her heels as his sobs wracked him, vaguely feeling worse than useless. She knew what he was feeling, sort of. If she hadn’t died that day, she was sure that she would have cried after the crossing as well. She was reaching out to pat him awkwardly on the shoulder when one of the natural shadows near the wall shifted and she jolted with recognition. 

“Master Longtail!” she cried, springing up. “Where have you been?”

His nose twitched in annoyance as he told her off for vanishing so abruptly. 

“I _am_ sorry,” she hissed, glancing back to see if Richard had noticed her yet; his head cradled in his hands and shoulders shaking, he apparently hadn’t. “I didn’t know it’d happen – it’s just that Richard said my name and my body just _jumped_ to him. Suddenly I was right next to him. It’s never happened before!”

Master Longtail mentioned that being a spirit, it was certainly something she should have known by now. 

“And who would have told me!” she cried, momentarily forgetting her manners in her indignation.

“Master Longtail?” Richard’s voice was craggy from his crying, and his eyes looked bright red above the paleness of his cheeks. He ran a hand half-heartedly over his stubble, squinting in the direction of the rat on the floor. “Is that you?”

The rat stepped around Anaesthesia and moved toward Richard, greeting him happily. 

Richard stared at the rat in wonder for several long moments. “I’m sorry, I still can’t understand what you’re saying. But I’m so glad to see you.” He held out a hand and the rat climbed nimbly into it. 

Richard lifted him to the level of his eyes. Master Longtail told him all about Anaesthesia in squeaks, how she was watching him and helped him across the Night’s Bridge, how he would not have made it except for her and he should thank her right away. 

Anaesthesia flushed at the praise. She’d never known the rat to be quite so verbal, especially with someone like Richard, who after all was new to London Below. 

“I really can’t understand you,” Richard was saying with a tilted smile. “I want to, though. I once knew this girl who could – do you remember Anaesthesia?” He stood with the rat in hands, and with a jolt, Anaesthesia found herself back at his side. She glared at him, breathless. “When I first got here, to London Below, she showed me around. Without her, I would never have found Door and the Marquis, and I probably would have died down here. Do you know that she met Hunter, too? We all crossed the Bridge together.” He turned and looked into the darkness that swallowed the Bridge’s arch – still seething and frustrated at losing its prize. “I thought that, if I came back here, I might be able to say something to her. Apologize to her for getting her killed. If it wasn’t for me, she’d still be around.”

Master Longtail whispered to Richard of the ghost who lingered near him, but he wouldn’t listen. This close, she could see the bright light of tears that glistened in the corners of his eyes. 

He bent and set Master Longtail down. The rat lingered by his feet. 

Richard stood and sighed, a sharp sound. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his over-large coat and watched the bridge for a long time. 

“I guess that’s it, then,” he finally said. “I’m sorry, Anaesthesia. I really wish I could have done better. I wish I’d stopped to ask more questions before you fell. I was so angry.” His voice slipped into a whisper, then he turned on his heel and walked away. 

Anaesthesia and Master Longtail traded a meaningful glance. Without a word passing between then, she ran after Richard, and stayed close to his back. He might not be able to hear her, but she could do something – after all, she’d saved him from the Night’s Bridge. Who else could lay claim to that?

 

-

 

Though Anaesthsia had lived in London Below much longer than Richard, she had a hard time figuring out where he was heading once he left the Bridge. He led her and Master Longtail through a series of old sewage tunnels that had long since fallen out of use and rotted clean, then up to an abandoned Tube station just south of Kensington. He stood there staring at the tiled walls – half broken and darkened now, their shine tarnished by years of decay – until Anaesthesia figured it out. 

Richard had no idea where he was headed. He was just walking until he found something that caught him up. After all, the adventure had come to him last time, so why shouldn’t it happen again? Anaesthesia knew better; you had to know the path you were taking through London Below. If you stepped down the wrong branching for an instant, you wouldn’t find adventure, but die.

She walked over to Master Longtail where he waited by the wall and stooped by him. 

“We can’t let him just wander around,” she whispered. “He’s going to get himself killed, and he won’t listen to me!”

Master Longtail informed her sharply that he was deaf to the rat’s words as well. 

“I _know_ ,” she hissed. “But at least he can see you! You can show him the way.”

To where, though? 

Anaesthesia chewed the thought over for some time. There were so few places in London Below that would help Richard. They could take him back to the Ratspeakers and get help there – even if he wouldn’t listen to Master Longtail, some of the Speakers would be able to convey her messages. But what after that? Richard needed a purpose, an adventure. He had been baptized into life in London Below through a grand battle. The problem was, for the life of her, Anaesthesia couldn’t think of any new beasts for him to slay. 

She needed to take him somewhere safe to buy them time to think.

At that moment, Richard knelt down beside Master Longtail, his knees passing right through Anaesthesia’s back. She shrieked and sprang up, clapping her hands over her mouth. It hadn’t hurt, but she had certainly felt it, and the touch had been _strange._

Richard held a knife out in his hands. The hilt was worn and stained by oils from the hand, sweat, and darker things. The blade was nicked and very, _very_ sharp. “I need your help, Master Longtail. I got this knife from Hunter, and to be honest I’m not sure what to do with it. I don’t really feel comfortable with it, I’m not planning on hunting anything anytime soon, but I know I should keep it. Thing is…” He swallowed and paused. “I can feel her in the knife. It’s like, when I hold it, I can see Hunter lying there in the labyrinth, her blood all—” His voice cut off suddenly. 

Anaesthesia looked around, but didn’t see the woman’s ghost anywhere near. She barely remembered Hunter – just as a tall woman who had been hard all over, dark enough to slip between the shadows – but she knew for sure that her ghost wasn’t nearby.

The rat told Richard the same thing. 

“I don’t think this knife is…” he began. “So many things have died because of it. I just want… I want it to be… oh, I don’t know.” He pulled the blade back and shoved it into one of the inner pockets of his coat and pulled it close around him as if feeling a chill. 

There was something dangerous about the knife. More than just the blade, which was wicked sharp, and the fact that the hand that wielded it was less that skilled. Even shoved away and hidden, Anaesthesia could feel something dark clinging to Richard. It was a heavy weight, like the half-forgotten smell of something rotten. 

Frowning, Anaesthesia watched him stand and look around, gaze darting and unsettled. 

“Does he want to cleanse it?” she asked Master Longtail. “Make it new again? I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Thing was, all the oldest weapons held the touches of their past owners. Any blade of renown did. The biggest deaths added up. Over the years, Hunter’s knife had likely slain dozens of great Beasts. Every time Richard held it, part of that history and power was given to him. With Hunter’s knife in his hands, his aim would always be true and his strike lethal. If he cleansed the blade, it would become nothing more than a piece of metal in a novice’s hands. He didn’t know what he was considering giving up. Sometimes the price of skill was death. 

Master Longtail tried to explain this to him. 

Richard didn’t listen. 

He buried his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat and look around. 

“Do you know where the next Market will be?” he asked. 

The contempt of Master Longtail knew no bounds. Anaesthesia flinched back from the rodent, hearing his invective speech. Nonetheless, he finally agreed to take Richard there and led the way, brushing against Richard’s trousers before taking them down the platform.

Anaesthesia sighed. If only Richard knew how blessed he was, to have Master Longtail’s affection. She didn’t know anyone else who could be so careless of the rat and still receive his help. He was far better than Richard deserved. 

Her lips twisted, but she followed the strange duo all the same. After all, what else could she do? 

 

-

 

The Floating Market was held that night in the Tate Britain, crowds shoving themselves through the white stone colonnades and crowding to fit in the circular atrium. It was thick with all manner of creatures, and all manner of humans, a cesspit of madness and wonders, and Anaesthesia gaped in wonder at it all. Ladies of the Night worked the crowd, slipping in and out between the patrons with sinuous movements. Somewhere, someone was playing a melody entrancing enough that it nearly dragged her away from Richard until she remembered her companion and whirled to see him nearly ten paces away. Hurrying after him, she almost ran into a man who was hawking a complete set of human teeth, mandible and all. There were men and women stooped over piles of what looked to be trash in the niches, haggling fiercely with anyone who came near. From the ceiling hung what looked to be a full menagerie suspended in cages, and the man who owned them all stood on the railing to a spiral staircase that descended into darkness, proclaiming their pedigrees.

Anaesthesia was so caught up by all this that she nearly lost Richard a second time. She turned to look for him and he was gone – for a heart-pounding moment, she was adrift, until she caught the scent of blood on the air and saw him from the corner of her eye.

He was standing beside a tall white column, talking to someone. 

The man was tall and thin, his skin darker than the night air and eyes shining. Richard was turning toward him like a friend, while Master Longtail stayed cautiously close to his feet. 

“—does seem like you are asking to be killed,” the man said archly. 

“I am not. I had to cross the Bridge. For her.” Richard seemed blithely earnest, and also slightly nervous. His hands kept shifting in and out of his pockets. 

“For a little girl you barely knew,” the man sneered. He shifted as if he, too, wanted to shove his hands into the pockets of a coat, but had no coat to provide said pockets. He grimaced. “Well, don’t come crying to me when you lose an eye, or half your lifespan, one of these days.”

“Is that likely?” Richard seemed unsure.

At his feet, Master Longtail squeaked up to about the dangers of the Seventh Quarter and how one should never gamble with the days of ones life, even if he had only a single penny in his pocket. The dark man looked down and grunted in agreement. 

“I see you’ve taken up with the ratspeakers.”

Richard glanced down. “Ah, no. He found me. I’m not sure if he’s staying with me because I knew Anaesthesia or because I’m likely to die soon and he wants to see it.”

At the sound of her name, she was yanked to Richard’s side. “ _Damn it._ ” 

The man’s gaze snapped to her as she appeared next to Richard, then immediately unfocused. He stared at her, squinting, and Anaesthesia began to grow nervous. She ducked behind Richard, deciding that she would rather not be discovered after all. 

“Marquis, I need some advice.”

The man – the _Marquis_ , and it made much more sense once she had his name – gave Richard a look of pure contempt. 

“No.”

Richard continued as if the man hadn’t spoken. “It’s just that I want to— well, it’s just that Hunter left me her knife and I’m not sure—”

“You’re feeling _guilty_ ,” the Marquis said with a false gasp, placing his hand over his heart. His tone turned instantly flat and dry. “Color me surprised.” He glanced up above them, to the high-vaulted ceiling, half hidden by the menagerie beneath – or below, depending upon the height from which one looked. 

Richard’s hand must have grasped the knife under his coat, because he seemed to grow taller, more confident. “I don’t want Hunter’s weapon. I want my own. Do you understand?”

The Marquis turned his keen gaze upon Richard. “If you are willing to make a trade, I could of course—”

“No, I want to keep the knife, but I don’t want…” Richard didn’t seem to know what he didn’t want. He grimaced and fell silent. 

The Marquis let the silence around them grow. “You want a more… subtle transition. One would have thought the Hunter’s dying words provided that, but it seems you are more squeamish than I thought. Let me see. What do you have to trade?”

“Half the years of my life,” Richard bit out grimly. 

The Marquis stepped forward and seized Richard’s arm, yanking him close. Only the fact that Anaesthesia was practically glued to Richard’s side allowed her to hear the man’s low hiss. 

“Don’t think I won’t take you up on that. You are a fool in the truest sense of the word. One of these days, someone is going to take you seriously. And where will you be then?” He shoved Richard back, who stumbled and nearly stepped upon Master Longtail before regaining his footing. The rat shouted at him indignantly. 

The Marquis turned away and stepped into the crowd. He immediately began to disappear, as if by magic. “Go to the Ladies,” he cast back over his shoulder. “You’ll find them in their cage. They’ll see to the knife.” 

As he made to leave, Richard cried, “Wait!”

The Marquis glanced back for a second more, and sighed heavily. His voice drifted back, as clear as if they were alone in the room. “I have my own business to take care of. The Ladies shouldn’t hurt you. Just be polite. And don’t offer more than you’re willing to give.” With that, he was gone.

Richard made an aborted attempt at following, then stopped. Anaesthesia agreed. That man was no good. It was best to stay away. 

When she looked Richard’s way again, he was stooped to the ground, talking to Master Longtail. She bent down to listen. 

“What is this cage? Who are the Ladies? Can I trust the Marquis? I don’t know if he’s just—” His words became muffled as he rubbed the lower half of his face, scrubbing at the scraggly beard growing there. 

Master Longtail tried to tell him, but Richard wouldn’t listen. 

He stood in the middle of Master’s Longtail’s sentence and, scowling deeply, strode off into the crowd. Anaesthesia and the rat gaped after him. 

“I— I am _so sorry_ ,” Anaesthesia gasped. “I can’t believe he would just—”

Richard’s rudeness was unsurpassed. She felt red-hot anger flare up and nearly stormed after him then and there. She barely stopped herself, sucking in a deep breath. 

What was she doing? This was stupid, following Richard around like a lost puppy. He’d taken her away from the Night’s Bridge – which was something, now that she thought about it, she would never have done for herself. It was silly to stick with him now that she was free. 

With that realization, an invisible weight lifted from Anaesthesia’s shoulders. Richard had repaid his debt to her. He had led her to her death, and then he had retrieved her from it. Her owed her nothing, and she had never owed him anything anyway. 

Anaesthesia laughed, a giddy kind of burble falling from her lips. She immediately clapped her hands over them and looked around, but no one was looking at her. 

At the moment, a scream rose into the air and nearly doubled Anaesthesia over. 

The Market crowd froze still, then turned as one toward the center of the room. Anaesthesia ran forward, holding her breath as she dove through the bodies of some of the patrons, and saw a scene that chilled her to her very core. 

Richard stood with the Hunter’s knife held in front of him, blood dripping from the very tip. The man who had been shouting about the menagerie stood before him, a shallow cut running up his arm, splitting the pale skin and welling up crimson blood. His face was blank and silent, and then began to shift. 

“I—” Richard’s was shocked. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to— I thought that you were—”

The man with the menagerie had a mohawk twice the height of his head and the color of egg whites. He stepped off the railing and onto the black and white floor with sinuous smoothness. Blood smeared beneath his shoe. His face crumpled and took on the snarl of something simian, far too cold and cruel to be human. 

Richard’s eyes flew wide and he backed away. He made to shove the blade away, then saw the eyes of the Market patrons on him. He gritted his teeth and gripped the blade more firmly. 

“I’m sorry,” he said again, then turned and ran. 

The crowd parted around his knife, then closed the gap behind him. Anaesthesia stood rooted to the ground as he vanished and a few of the patrons ran after him, hungry and wild. The Market Truce. He’d broken it. 

Her gaze flicked to Master Longtail and back. How could Richard be so stupid? He’d _known_ the dangers of the knife, the stories of the Market. How could he have lashed out like that?

Her thoughts whirled, but provided no answers. A moment later she realized that Master Longtail was shouting at her, sharp squeaks telling her that she was losing him. 

Anaesthesia pushed through the crowd, gritting her teeth against the feeling of dissolution. She ran through the high doors of the museum and out on the front steps. She stood and peered out into the London night, filled with the glow of streetlamps and taxi headlights, and realized that amongst all this commotion, Richard was gone, and she was alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Three days later, Anaesthesia found herself sitting on the edge of the Thames, feet swinging off the edge of the Embankment. The people of London Above passed by her, blind and loud. She pressed her cheek to the metal railing and sighed. This time of night, when the sidewalks were bustling but the water was quiet, there was nothing much to do in London Above. At least not for Anaesthesia. 

Plenty of other Londoners enjoyed the night air, both Above and Below. She’d seen young couples walking hand in hand, stepping around sideshow acts a century old without pause. She’d seen one man lift a woman’s wallet from her purse simply by glancing at it, then snatching it out of the air without anyone (except Anaesthesia) the wiser. The Embankment was a place where both halves of London could mix, the sides of a coin that never touched, but brushed against each other in this pocket of a world. 

Anaesthesia rubbed at her face; her thoughts wandered in circles, lost in themselves. She had scoured London Above and Below for the past days. She’d spent some time crouched behind the Earl’s great chair in Earl’s Court and found the scent of mildewed hazelnuts that drifted around him to be sickening. Not so much as a whisper there of Richard. She had followed the Shoreditch to its heading, only to find that it spouted from a chink in the rock that she could probably climb into, but didn’t want to. She’d stood in the midst of a duel on the edges of the Floating Market and felt the mental energies shiver around her as the combatants glared at each other. She’d seen two murders and an accidental beheading. But she’d heard nothing of Richard. It was as if he’d vanished entirely when he’d run from the Market. 

Even Master Longtail tired of guiding her. He began to leave for longer and longer periods, to find food or wash his whiskers, excuses she couldn’t say no to. She hadn’t seen him for almost an hour. 

And though she was quite enjoying the time Above – at least she knew that she was _supposed_ to be ignored up here – Anaesthesia was completely bored. She felt the itch under her skin, crawling up the back of her neck and into her hair. It was the feeling of something left undone and unfinished. The feeling that something out there was waiting for her, if only she could remember it. 

She shoved away from the Embankment, pulled her feet through the rail, nearly tripped and fell, and pushed herself up, frowning, only to run smack up against someone (actually, she ran halfway through him and before stopping, felt his beating heart on her palm). 

“Oh!” Heart pounding, she stumbled back. “I’m—”

It was Richard. He had obviously shaved recently, and not well. He’d nicked his cheeks in at least three places, lending him an even more desolate appearance. He stared at Anaesthesia, numbly shocked, and then she watched herself fade out of his eyes. He saw her clearly, and his eyes went blank as if he’d looked away and seen something more interesting. He blinked twice and rubbed at his face. She was dead; the pounding in her chest was just a fool’s hope. 

He groaned. “Too tired. Just too tired.” Richard rubbed at his forehead and walked through Anaesthesia and away, down the Embankment. 

It took her less than a second to follow. 

Anaethesia pressed herself against the hunch of Richard’s shoulders as he hurried along. He was muttering to himself, a rhythmic sound she couldn’t quite pick out. As they moved, feet hitting the pavement hard, it sounded like a song. 

“Where are you going?”

He’d been running for days. Anaesthesia could see the weight of that flight on him. It was caked into the mud of his shoes and the rank smell of his coat. It was in the way his shoulders were hunched and way he stepped fast, lips pressed tight together. 

Of course he didn’t answer. His stride was swift and purposeful, taking them down the Embankment and under the bridges, toward the place where trees hung over the path, their green leaves shedding heavily onto the walkway. They passed by old gardens with brick walls, and when she looked at them, she saw they were papered with advertisements that seemed to watch her, the eyes of the sketches shifting to follow her passing. She shivered and stuck close to Richard. 

She’d left Master Longtail behind. The realization made her sharply annoyed with herself. After all this time, he’d brought her through so much, and she’d just jumped up and run away. 

She reached out and grabbed hold of Richard’s arm, hoping to slow him down. Perhaps the rat would be able to follow. 

His jacket was old, maybe once of military descent, but she wasn’t familiar enough to be sure. Anaesthesia ran her fingers over it. Her sense of touch had been dulled since she’d died, but to her the coat felt old and worn, like butter. Halfway to its own kind of death. 

“Richard.” She leaned over his shoulder. 

His brow was creased in some silent agony she couldn’t read. She reached out to smooth the muscles and to her surprise, they did relax, if only for a second. 

Though he was walking fast and hard, shoes snapping against the pavement, Anaesthesia had no problem keeping up. As death had cut her off from everyone except those who kept silent usually (like the rats), it had also lifted many of the worst kinds of living from her. She kept up with Richard without losing her breath, propelled forwards more through thought than by effort. If only she could speak to him as easily. 

With that thought vibrating through her, Anaesthesia leapt ahead of Richard. If asked later how she’d done it, she couldn’t have said. It was very much like that time that Richard had called her name – the sudden dislocation and confusion of being in one place and then, in the same moment, in another. It was something like being flipped inside out, but without the physical sensation at all. 

She found herself standing further down the Embankment with the river on her right and a thunderous street on her left. Just behind her rose the arches of several bridges whose names she couldn’t recall. Her eyes caught on a spark of light and she watched Richard stride down the path toward her, head down. 

Anaesthesia sucked in a deep breath and shouted as if into a hurricane wind, “ _Richard!_ ”

Richard looked right at her. His eyes were wide and surprised. He didn’t recognize her, but he did see her for an instant before the awareness faded. His feet fell out of step and her nearly stumbled. He looked around, obviously shaken from his thoughts. Anaesthesia seized on the moment and stepped forward. 

“Richard,” she tried. “What are you doing?”

He blinked, nearly refocused, and lost her again. 

“Hello? Is someone there?”

“Richard!” 

“Yes, that’s me.” Given a second to adapt to the thought that someone invisible was talking to him, Richard proved amenable. “Who are you?”

Anaesthesia opened her mouth and then stopped, frozen by the thought of him calling to her and being yanked to his side, again and again. Then she imagined the pain that would etch into his face. She swallowed. “You can hear me?”

“Yes.” He stopped walking and looked toward the river, eyes narrowing. “You’re fading in and out a bit, fuzzy like… a radio, but I can hear you alright. Do I know you?” His brow furrowed, trying to puzzle out the mystery. 

“I— No. I’ve heard of you.” Anaesthesia was proud of how little her voice shook, though it did leave her somewhat unbalanced to be having a conversation again, after so many weeks. 

Richard laughed under his breath. “You all have.”

What did he think she was, exactly, that he couldn’t see her and she still spoke to him? He turned, eyes roving blindly over the Embankment. She was invisible to him. Anasethesia lifted her hand and waved it before his eyes. He looked right through her. 

“I heard you were looking for something.”

His haze snapped in her direction. “How did you hear that?”

Anaesthesia refused to be daunted by the steel in his gaze. She hadn’t looked at him – really looked – since the Night’s Bridge. There was something different about him now. Something sharp. It was a brittle kind of sharpness, a flint ready to spark. Anaesthesia wanted to smother it before it got him killed. 

“And what am I looking for?” he asked, an undercurrent of something sour creeping into his tone. 

Anaesthesia took in a breath, cold and bracing from the river’s dampness. There was a bitter tang in the air that made her pause, but she couldn’t identify it, so she forgot it. 

“A cage,” she said. “You need to find the Ladies.”

Anaesthesia hadn’t been looking for _them_. She hadn’t asked anyone about the Ladies, nor would she have if she had been able to speak to people still. She’d simply spent so much time in London Below, in so many parts of the city below, that it was hard not to hear things. Rumors of the Ladies were the whispers of a whisper, the story of a cult that had faded many years before, but even so Anaesthesia had heard of it. 

Richard’s eyes flared alight, the sight of his hope enough to make heat rise to Anaesthesia’s cheeks. She wasn’t used to being looked at like that, even if he couldn’t see her. 

“Where are they?”

“The cage is easy to find. It’s just over there.” She pointed first, then realized that he couldn’t see. “To your right.” 

He looked down the road. It was lined with buildings sculpted from grey stone, kept precise and clean. The street itself was paved, shining black after the rain that had passed through a hour before. This time of night, it was nearly silent, with just a few people walking up it. The black spindles of the lamps that rose from the pavement looked liked the legs of something immensely tall. A heavy, ornate tower with a clack face at the top sat behind her a ways. 

“Past Big Ben?” Richard looked at her dubiously, as if he couldn’t imagine anything secret being kept here in the heart of tourist London. 

Anaesthesia’s lips quirked. “Just down the road, where the trees begin. In plain sight, kind of. For those who know how to look.” She gave him a smile he ignored. This was it – she was having a _conversation_ with Richard.

He gave the air in front of him a skeptical glance, then shrugged. “Well, I’ve looked everywhere else.” He turned and began to walk down the lane, crossing nimbly between a black cab and a sleek vehicle moving far too fast. 

“Richard!” Anaesthesia called. He paused and glanced back, balanced on the median. “Can I come with you?” She couldn’t have said why she asked, only perhaps that she was sick of being an unwilling secret.

“Only if you tell me your name!” he shouted back. 

Anaesthesia thought for long enough that she was afraid he would turn and leave her, before giving up on finding a good alternative and calling out, “Ana! My name is Ana!”

In return, he sent a smile her way, which missed her by a mile but was warming all the same. “Come on, Ana. And keep talking. I don’t want to leave you behind.”

She slipped across the street, and only one car passed through her as she moved to be at his side.

 

-

 

Birdcage Walk was the name of the street. It was lined with trees on both sides – St. James’ Park a brooding darkness on their right and a line of rowhouses on the left, windows glimmering with light. They were old, and the shadows that hung from the eaves seemed to have cobwebs of their own. Anaesthesia crept close to Richard and peered over his shoulder, hoping to see what he could see. 

The street was completely silent. There wasn’t a car or walker to be seen. The few cars that drove up the street behind them decided all at once that they had urgent business somewhere else and turned, leaving the Walk alone. The stillness that hung over the lane was nearly tangible. When Anaesthesia reached out, it shifted and trembled around her hand, pulling back and leaving a space that seemed to sighed with relief. Richard sucked in a sharp breath. 

“I can see you,” he said. Anaesthesia stepped away and whirled on him all at once. “Not properly. I mean, I can just see an outline of your hand. It’s brighter than everything else. Right here.” He reached out and placed his hand just over hers; Anaesthesia shivered at the sensation as he trailed a finger through her palm. 

“That’s good,” she breathed, unsure if it was anything like that at all.

He turned and looked in her direction, gaze roaming over her face. “It is, isn’t it?” He reached out for her and waited. “Shall we, then?”

Anaesthesia wanted to take his hand and pull him away from that street – if they went forwards, it would be into the snare of the cage, she suspected. But she had heard enough about Richard’s adventures to know better. He had a quest; he wasn’t the kind to give it up. She looked down the street once more. 

“Do you know why people use cages, Richard?” she asked absently. “To keep things in.”

When she looked back, Richard was three steps down the walk, eyes shining with an echo of the light that rode inside him, an echo of his soul. “Doesn’t mean that whatever’s inside is dangerous.” His voice was already swallowed by a peculiar stillness that swept around him. 

Something strange happened to Richard as he walked. He wasn’t exactly vanishing into the stillness that stretched across the road, but somehow growing thinner, as if someone with a gigantic version of a schoolhouse eraser had taken their tool to him and was slowly taking him out of existence. With each step he took, there was less of him to see, and more of the street behind him became clear. 

_No_ , Anaesthesia thought. _Not since I’ve just got him back._

She dove forward and seized onto the back and Richard’s coat just as it fluttered and threatened to vanish. He resolved into solidity with a silent _pop_ that she felt in the tips of her fingers. 

“Richard,” she hissed. He tilted his head toward her as she walked and she kept a fast grip on him, letting herself be pulled along. “This is— You can’t do this. We haven’t even found out whether the Ladies are really here!”

He stopped dead. “ _You_ were the one who said they were here.”

Something inside her rejoiced that he’d listened to her. “But it’s just a rumor! Richard, something here isn’t _right_. Don’t you feel it?”

He looked around the street and felt, she hoped, the eerie stillness. He licked his lips and his gaze darted over to her. It was unfocused, as if she was a mere blur to his eyes, but he still saw her – something of her, at least. 

“I need to see the Ladies.” His eyes were wide as he spoke. “I have to fix this.”

“Fix _what_?” she cried. 

“It sounds,” a voice said, crisp and sharp, “like a job.”

“We should let the boy through,” growled another.

“No.” This one was a sibilant sigh. “Let’s eat him.”

Anaesthesia whirled and found the oddest sight she’d even seen – and she had seen some _truly_ odd sights sitting by the side of the road. On the kerb sat a lion, golden fur thick and limp with dew. Its eyes were golden and fixed on her and Richard. Next to it sat a goat, patches of black and white covering its face, the strange blocky pupils darting over the street and back to them. It took her a moment to find the last speaker, seeing as it was so close to the ground, but after a moment it shifted flicked out a long tongue, and she gasped. 

The snake coiled around the goat’s hooves, a shifting mass of coils in the dark. 

“What a waste.” It was the goat, the same speaker as the first. “The first human who can see us walks this way in what, seventy-four years, and you greet him like he’s laid himself out as a feast. We should at least ask him what he wants, first.”

Beside her, Richard turned. She felt the instant he saw the three creatures, as he stiffened and sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Looking for some Ladies,” hissed the snake. “Maybe they’re lost.”

“Who are you?” Richard asked boldly. 

The lion rolled to its feet, stretching languidly. “The girl said they were looking for us. Are you going to lie to them?”

“We hardly need to lie,” the snake sighed. “No one’s been able to hear us in years. Not since _him_.” It muttered the last words darkly. 

Anaesthesia caught sight of the snake’s head as it uncoiled and reached up one of the goat’s legs, head leading as it inched up towards its back. 

“I think—” Richard began, stepping back and reaching into his pockets; he pulled the Hunter’s knife and held it low before him. Even so bared, it seemed blunted, shadowed by something smear across it. 

“Put that down,” the goat snapped. “You’re being foolish.”

“We shouldn’t be here.” Richard backed away as the lion stepped off the kerb and towards them. “It was all just a rumor. There must be another cage, that the Marquis was referring to.”

Anaesthesia let him walk away; somehow the stillness that hung over the Walk clun to him and lifted off her. As it did, she blinked and saw clearly. 

“Richard, wait. Can you hear them?”

He paused. “What?” The knife held before him wavered.

“I don’t think they want to hurt us.” She couldn’t be sure. She hadn’t been sure about anything for a long time. But there was something about those animals, the way they spoke; they carried some of the dignity that the oldest of the rats held, the power that came from being very old and very wise, and very tired. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Richard hissed. 

“I hardly think she’s the unintelligent one here,” the lion sighed heavily. “After all, she’d not the one running away from those she came to seek.”

As Anaesthesia gaped at the creature, Richard continued down the street, backing further and further away.

“Stop!” she cried. “I think it’s them!”

He didn’t waver. “You’re mad.”

“Of course I am! But these are the Ladies!” The words came out a shriek, jolting Anaesthesia and stopping Richard dead. In the stillness of the moment, the snake slithered past her, sliding along the pavement toward Richard. 

“The girl is right,” the goat snapped. It stepped across the pavement with sharp hooves, the snap of its steps unusually loud. “Stop moving, Richard Mayhew.”

“Yes,” laughed the snake, coiling up Richard’s leg. “Do stay still.”

Richard jolted and reversed the knife in a smooth motion that spoke of practice, and brought it down to cut the snake off at the head. 

“No!”

Without precisely willing it, Anaesthesia found herself at Richard’s side. She reached for the knife and grabbed it; the sharp edge sliced across her palm and, deterred, missed Richard’s leg by milimetres. Anaesthesia cried out and shrank back, the cut on her hand peeling open and letting in a rush of cold air. 

The snake fell away as Richard, shocked, lifted his eyes toward her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

He reached out, and Anaesthesia pulled away. “You are a fool,” she snapped. “I wish you would listen to me for once.”

Paling, he chewed on his lip and looked down at the knife. In this light, closer to the streetlamps, Anaesthesia could see that it was indeed stained. The metal roiled with the shadows of old blood, long since wiped clean.

“Put that away. It won’t do you any good here.”

Richard glanced at the animals. Now that they were closer, they appeared very different – they were a lion and goat and snake, but not any kind Anaesthesia had ever seen before. And she had seen a lion once, at the London Zoo during the Market some years before. That one had been haggard and proud at the same time. This one’s coat rippled with a golden gleam, and its eyes shone with a feral intelligence. It regarded Richard with a brilliant eagerness. This animal was sovereign over all the rest.

After a pause, Richard looked in Anaesthesia’s direction, gaze roving blindly. “This is damned awkward,” he muttered. “What are they saying?”

That’s right – he couldn’t hear them. Or see her. Anaesthesia nearly burst out laughing despite the pain still throbbing through her hand, and now up her wrist. “They want you to put away the knife.”

Richard gritted his teeth and shoved the knife into one of his pockets, the hilt tilting out and pressing against his arm. “All right,” he snorted. “I’ve put it away. Now, I know that there are rats that can talk, but—”

“Please,” the snake sneered. “Don’t insult us. We are not nearly so pathetic.”

Anaesthesia flushed, the ache in her palm beginning to ebb, and opened her mouth to snap at the animal. The lion purred. 

“We are the Ladies,” it said lowly. “Formerly of the Menagerie, counselors to the King. He spoke to us on the long nights, when he could not sleep with all his pillows and servants. He came to us to speak of the problems he could share with none other.”

“And we gave him our counsel.”

“It’s too bad he’s dead,” the snake said.

The words brought Anaesthesia’s words to a halt in her throat. She stared at them all for a long moment before seeing Richard’s expectant gaze growing uneasy. 

“Oh,” she said. “They say they are the Ladies, and they were counselors to the King. They used to live in the Menagerie.”

“Menagerie.” Richard’s brow furrowed. “Like a zoo?”

“Nothing like that,” the lion said. “It was much richer. Much more exclusive. Not just any animal could live there.”

“It was beautiful,” the snake sighed. 

“It is gone.” The goat’s words were snapped and harsh. “Stop speaking of it.”

“They said—” Anaesthesia had barely spoken when the animals spoke again. 

“This is Meraz,” the goat said, nodded at the snake and twitching her nose. “And I am Eo.”

“I am called Beatrice,” the lion said, and sat on her haunches. 

Anaesthesia introduced the animals to Richard. After a pause during which he stared blankly, he nodded to each in turn. 

“I— I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that down here I’ve learned it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Understandable,” said Beatrice, long claws stretching out in front of her. They screeched across the pavement and everyone winced. 

Meraz’ tongue flicked out over the black asphalt. “I did not mean to scare you,” she hissed apologetically. 

“You have come to petition the Ladies,” Eo said irritably, casting her siblings side-eyed looks. “It is lucky you have one with you who can pass along our words. For years, all who have come to us have sat deaf and failed to listen to our advice.”

“They died,” the Beatrice supplied.

“All except _him_ ,” said Meraz. 

“As you have said,” Eo said sharply. She stamped a hoof down hard and Meraz’ length coiled tighter, away from her. She looked back to Richard. “Bear in mind we are counselors, not magicians. What is it you need?”

Anaesthesia relayed all this to Richard, and he thought for a moment before licking his lips and drawing out the knife. 

“If I ask for your help, what do you want in return?” he asked. 

The goat laughed, high and hysterical. “He is not the fool he seems. Well, Ladies, what do we want in return for our counsel?”

“I would like his smallest fingers,” Meraz whispered. “And perhaps his thumbs.”

“As for me, I will take ten years off his lifetime,” Beatrice yawned, flashing sharp teeth. 

Anaesthesia felt blood drain from her face, or whatever the ghostly equivalent was. “I can’t tell him— He won’t—”

“What won’t I do?” Richard’s gaze roamed over the animals, but his question was pointed at her. Perhaps it was for the best that he was half blind and deaf to the world around him. If he could hear clearly, he would be much more angry. She didn’t even want to think of what would happen if he could see. 

“They’re asking for— Well…” Anaesthesia tried out a dozen replies in her head and threw each out. 

Richard’s face twisted, reading her reluctance to speak correctly. “Too much. Well, then.” He faced the Ladies directly, and they turned their strange gazes upon him, each one heavier than the last. “I won’t give away the lives of my friends. I won’t give away my free will or anything like that. I won’t bargain away a future favor. I will give whatever you see here.” He spread his arms wide and his coat opened, draping shadows around him and lending him a greater significance than he usually carried. With he chin lifted, he nearly looked grand. 

 

Eo eyed him critically. “You have nothing, boy Hunter. You are playing at being a hero, but you’re just a man in an old tattered coat.”

Anaesthesia’s lips locked together and refused to repeat the slurs. 

“I know,” Richard continued, undaunted, “that I don’t seem like much. I don’t have any money or anything valuable beside this knife, and that’s not up for bargain. But I am more than that.” His lips clamped down after the last words. Anaesthesia couldn’t imagine what he could offer.

Beatrice blinked slowly at him, lips parting in a feline grin. “Tell us what you want, boy, and maybe we can come to an agreement.”

Anaesthesia repeated this. 

Richard thought for a long moment. He turned the knife over in his hands and paused, then finally held it out. “I need help with this.”

Eo sniffed delicately at the air. “The Hunter’s blade. It is a formidable weapon. What do you wish to do?”

“I want it to be cleaned.”

Meraz stared up at him, lidless eyes intent. “Scrub it yourself. The Lady Thames is just that way.”

After receiving the words, Richard shook his head. “No. There is something else on it. Something in the knife that isn’t right. It was Hunter’s gift, so I won’t get rid of it, but when I touch it something is wrong. I wanted it to be right again. A knife.”

“You wanted it cleansed.” Beatrice said the word in an entirely different way than Richard, with an entirely new meaning. “You are risking much.”

“You will lose the skill that comes with it. Are you so good with a knife that you aren’t worried?” Eo’s tone was sharp.

Voice shaking, Anaesthesia relayed their words. Then she added her own. “Richard, don’t do this. The knife is powerful. It will help keep you safe. When you touch it—”

“When I pick up the knife, I’m dangerous!” His voice shook. “I nearly killed a man last week because of this knife! I was startled – just _surprised_ – and it—” His hands twisted around the knife’s hilt. 

“The blade is powerful.” Eo said into the silence. “It has taken many lives.”

“I can feel it,” Richard continued, speaking half to himself. “It wants to kill again. Every day that I don’t, it’s like a thorn, digging in under my skin, and it’s starting to drive me mad.”

He was pale, lips pressed together. And jaw clenched. He thought he was going to kill someone. Soon.

"I can't keep the knife like this."

"Have you considered this? You are putting yourself in danger if you take the shadows off the knife."

"There has been enough death." Richards words were snarled. 

Anaesthesia felt a knot of guilt twist in her gut. One of those deaths had been hers. Somehow Richard had taken it and made it into his own pain. She was at his side in an instant and laid her hands over his, covering the knife. 

"Richard…" 

He flinched. "Please. Help me." The words were just for her.

Anaesthesia drew back. Just who did he think was translating the Ladies' word for him? Did he imagine he heard them clearly himself? Or that she was a figment of his own mind? She wasn't sure what to think of him, and was left actually breathless for a moment. 

"You are right that a cleansing would take away the deaths," said Beatrice. 

“But such a task has a high cost.”

Anaesthesia's tongue was numb as she repeated Eo’s words. 

“What do you want, then?” 

“What do we want, he asks.” A smile seemed to split the snake’s face.

"He could give us his life," Beatrice said. 

Anaesthesia couldn't even translate. Richard watched the Ladies, waiting for words that would never come. 

“Come now,” Eo sighed, turning her odd gaze on Anaesthesia. “You are dead. It is not so bad, what we ask.”

"You can't. " Her voice emerged a croak. 

“We can.” Beatrice was firm. “Tell the boy what we want, or he will receive no help from us.”

She looked to Richard and opened her mouth, dry throat creaking with the weight of the words. They wanted Richard to die. 

A skittering of claws near Anaesthesia's feet sent her jumping. Master Longtail climbed over he tows and placed himself between her and the Ladies. He looked up at them for a long moment, and Anaesthesia fought the instinctual urge to curl herself over him; she had known him too long to think he would take that well. How had he found them? It seemed like only moment since they’d entered the Walk.

"Good evening, Master Rat," Meraz greeted, a shade too eagerly. 

Master Longtail spoke back in sharp squeaks, telling them that they were fools to take Anaesthesia lightly. The three blinked down at him before Eo looked up at Anaesthesia. 

"Is it true that you gave your life for this man?" She asked. 

Technically, yes. Anaesthesia nodded. 

Eo looked to Richard, who stared stolidly back. "You are lucky to have one like her to protect you," she said. Even then, he didn't hear her voice. Eo looked back to Anaesthesia. "Take him up the Walk until it begins to curve. Then stay straight until the shadows cross themselves. Bring back a branch from the only tree in London that bear black fruit, and we will spare his life."

Anaesthesia bowed her head. "Thank you."

Despite the reprieve, she couldn’t help but be uneasy. What tree bore black fruit? She gave Richard the Lady’s words. 

He, too, frowned. “What tree does she mean?”

“I don’t—” Anaesthesia began, and then she did. There was just one tree in London that bore fruit like that, but it had been torn down years before. The hanging tree by the Tyburn.

For centuries it had been a place of death and suffering. People drowned in the River Tyburn, and its water flowed downstream to poison the city with madness. They hung by its side, on the hill overlooking. They bled, torn apart and stabbed. It sucked the life from anyone who went to it. How could they be expected to gain a branch from it? It was as good a death sentence as a bargain.

"Well? What is it?" Richard asked the silence. 

Anaesthesia felt the words pull themselves free from her and leap through the air. "The Tyburn. You have to go to the old tree at Tyburn."

"The tree?" Richard asked with a furrowed brow. "What does that--"

"The gallows. You have to bring back a branch from the gallows."

"An old--? That must have been torn down centuries ago. No. Of course it wasn’t. This is London Below." Richard sighed and the tension left him. He rubbed his hands through his hair. "I know how to find the hill. How do I find the gallows? I hardly think they’ll be standing about where anyone could find them."

Richard's shoulders lifted as the quest settled on him. Anaesthesia saw the determination light in his eyes. He had a plan. If only she hadn't said anything. Anaesthesia swore to sew her lips shut from now on. 

“You can’t miss it,” Meraz hissed.

Anaesthesia gave him this vague instruction. Master Longtail peered up at her, his beady eyes dark with concern.

After a moment to gritting his teeth, Richard moved. “Alright. Up the Walk, I can’t miss it.” His hand slipped into his jacket and grabbed the knife, though he didn’t pull it out. Anaesthesia palm still stung, though it had stopped weeping. She stayed well back.

She darted past Richard. "Come on," she said. "We have to go."

He turned and looked past her, gaze darting back and forth as he sought her form. He came up short, but took a step to follow her voice. 

They fled down the Walk, north along the London street, until the bustle of traffic burst around them and, cursing, Richard was nearly hit by a passing car. The noise rushing around them, they stumbled back onto the sidewalk. 

North. To the hanging tree.

 

-

 

At night, the Marble Arch is lit up, golden lights set into the ground set to timers that switch on far before sunset, so that the white stone of the façade seems to absorb the sun’s last rays and shine with them into the evening. Despite its beauty, the ironic transcendence of its heavy stone, the Arch is always quiet. The people of London – Above and Below – don’t like to linger. They dart through the branching tunnels thirty feet beneath, splashing through the water without thinking about their destinations. They stride across the open square beside it, pulling their coats tighter as if a sudden chill has come over them. They don’t often stop to see the little stone set into the ground, the spot where a tree once stood. 

Richard and Anaesthesia emerged from the sewer beneath Park Lane with the muck of the River Tyburn on their shoes. She was a tight little river, long lost, and Anaesthesia’s shoulders ached from being hunched over for so long. As Richard gathered his coat around him and glared at the shining Arch, Anaesthesia sighed. 

“Are you sure about this, Richard?” she asked lowly. 

Somehow, he looked thinner than a few moments before. Like he’d been wasting away while she hadn’t been looking. The shadows on his cheeks aged him more than anything, and Anaesthesia felt that she was looking at an old man. Someone she didn’t know. He slid a heavy gaze sideways, almost seeing her but just missing. 

“I don’t have a choice.” He, too, sighed. “Who are you, Ana? You shouldn’t have followed me all this way. I appreciate the help, but you’ll be better off back wherever you came from.”

_Who do you think I am?_ The words burned on the tip of her tongue, but she stayed silent. 

“Fine.” He stepped into the street and nimbly stepped through the zip of the traffic. “But you’ll have to watch out for yourself.”

_The tree_ , they had said. _We are sending you to the tree. Cut one of its branches and bring it back, and we will make your blade clean._

Richard walked briskly through Marble Arch, the shadow that fell over him hiding him for a moment before revealing him anew. He stopped near the little circle of stone that marked the old gallows and looked around. 

“What tree?” He grumbled to himself. He turned in a circle, gaze searching but landing on nothing. 

Anaesthesia gaped up at it. 

Richard stood at the very foot of the tree, which rose high and silvery above him. It was twice as wide as he, slim for its height, and seemed to vanish among the gray, light-polluted sky and the stars she could see glimmering in the blackness between its branches. The bark was aged and wrinkled, more like the folds of skin some of the oldest rat speakers had had on the backs of their hands than Anaesthesia’s own. The lowest branch of the tree hung in the shape of a gallows, arching over Richard’s head. Master Longtail, at his feet and trailing mud, looked up silently. 

“How am I supposed to find it?” he was grumbling. “I should have brought the Marquis. Or maybe Door. She would know.”

_You don’t want anyone else here_ , Anaesthesia thought, wondering at his blindness. How was it that he couldn’t _see_?

The tree was right here. It had never left London. It was so big; it was beautiful. And he was blind - absolutely and completely. Anaesthesia stepped past him and stared up at the branches of the tree that spread above them. It was a silvered canopy of silent leaves. The strangest thing was, the London sky was just the same as always - a grey kind of darkness reflecting the city's lights back down over it, hiding the all but the brightest stars.

It looked different between the branches of the tree. The sky there was black as pitch, filled with the pinpoints of thousands of tiny stars. Between each branch, Anaesthesia could see the real sky over London. 

She reached out and laid her hands on the bark of the tree. It thrummed with warmth beneath her palm. 

Richard's gasp made her whirl. He stood beside her, head tilted back and face open; in his eyes were the stars. His gaze darted back and forth, following the path of the branches back to the trunk. Anaesthesia smiled at him, warmth growing in her as she saw the light in his eyes. Finally, he saw what she did. 

And when he followed the trunk down toward the place where the tree met the paving stones, he saw _her_. Richard stared at Anaesthesia, the amazement falling away from his face to be replaced by flat shock. His lips worked soundlessly for a moment. 

"You--" His voice was choked and shuttered. 

Anaesthesia felt a smile rise to her face and fall away. "Hello, Richard."

He flinched back. "Ana. Anaesthesia. How did I not know!?" He shook his head and looked at with a frown beginning to edge onto his face. "You're dead."

"Yes." She wanted to say so much more - about watching him from under the Night's Bridge, about the light within him that had flared up, about following him across half of London and nearly losing him. They piled up behind her teeth and strangled her. What did they matter? She was dead. Master Longtail squeaked words of comfort she barely heard.

Richard reached out for her and she drew back, pressing against the rough bark. It felt comforting on her back. His hands passed through her and she was coldly relieved. 

"How-- How are you here?" He seemed stunned, the presence of the tree forgotten in the sight of her.

She shook her head. "I don't know. Richard--"

"You're not dead!" He whispered harshly. "You can’t be dead. If you're here, you're not dead!"

He nearly shouted the last words. Anaesthesia moved forward to grab him, to show him just how dead she was. Something pulled her up short and she fell back. The tree had wrapped itself around her, bark curling up around her fingers and the sides of her ribs. 

Richard's eyes went wide as he saw and he dove forward, clawing at the new growth. "No, I wont--" He was talking half to himself. He saw her and wanted her by his side. Anaesthesia's heart twisted and jumped. The bark inched forward implacably. This time, he wouldn't let her go. Not unless she did something. She'd never wanted to be saved. 

"Stop. Richard, stop this." 

He yanked at the bark, but for every bit he pulled away, twice that amount grew back. 

"Richard!" She nearly shouted. 

He flinched back, then reached for her again. 

"Stop!" 

He did, fingers hovering inches away. "It's going to kill you," he whispered. 

"I'm already dead." Dead but not gone. "You have to leave me here. Remember why we came."

"What?"

"The tree," she hissed. "You need a branch from the tree so that they'll cleanse the knife."

Brow furrowed, he said, "But if I leave--"

"You have to leave!” she cried. The tree wrapped around her tighter, a snug fit that she wasn’t opposed to. “Richard, listen to me. This isn’t how it works.” She made herself firm and unyielding. 

He frowned at her, fingers, hanging untethered in the air. “That makes no sense. Of course this is how it works!”

“You aren’t here to save me!” Her voice turned into a shriek halfway through. She wanted to be saved. But it would never happen. She’d been doomed since the birthday she’d run from, frozen in the shadows. “This isn’t a story about me.”

Something glimmered in the corners of Richard’s eyes. The bark crept forward over the front of her shoulders, shifting around the front of her throat. She hoped it wouldn’t hurt. 

“Thank you, Richard. For trying. But you need to leave me now and get the tree. Make your knife clean let me go.”

He finally looked back to the giant leaning over him. “How?” His whisper was dry. 

_I don’t know._

The thing was, she had to know. Richard had always been a silly man, slow to learn the ways of London Below. She was the one who had shown him around first, and she couldn’t help but think that it was her job now, too. Anaesthesia dug her fingers into the soft flesh of the tree underneath the bark and thought hard. They needed a branch from the tree. But how?

The tree shuddered. High above, a whisper echoed down to them secondhand – distant branches shifting – and something fell to the ground. It was a single silvery branch, wrought from solid, gleaming wood and the length of a man’s middle finger. Anaesthesia stared at it, breathless. 

“Oh.” Richard bent to pick up the branch and folder his hands around it before looking back at the tree. “Thank you.” He craned his head back to look into the tree’s branches, and the tree offered no answer. 

Anaesthesia felt the bark creep further over his skin, claiming centimetre by centimetre. “You have to go,” she whispered. “Back to the Ladies. Get that knife clean and then… go see that Big—” The name slipped away from her, as it always had. 

“Big Ben,” Richard said, clutching the branch close. 

“Yeah.” She tried to give him a smile. “Go see Big Ben for me. Never did get there.”

Richard blinked fast, forcing the tears from his eyes. He hesitated, then moved, feet carrying him backwards. “Thank you,” he said, and this time it was for her. 

Anaesthesia kept her smile up as he tucked the branch into his coat and backed away, as the bark pricked at the corners of her eyes and he vanished into the shadows of the Marble Arch. Finally, when she was sure he was gone, she let the grimace go with a sigh and blinked quickly. 

The bark flecked away from her eyes and cracked over her arms. She rolled her shoulders back and with a crackle, pulled herself free. Master Longtail looked up at her and laughed. “Stop that,” she chided softly. “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do it after all.” The tree stood beside her and covered the open place she’d been in a second before with rough bark. Knowing that it couldn’t hold her for long, Anaesthesia reached out and gave it a fond pat. 

The early morning traffic was beginning to pick up. Laughter announced the presence of walkers. Soon the sun would rise and the city wake. Anaesthesia didn’t want to be there to see it. 

She looked down at Master Longtail, lips suddenly dry. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he told her in his rough voice. “It has been a pleasure guiding you, Lady Anaesthesia.”

Tears blinded her for a second, and when she finally blinked them clear, he was gone. The tiny spark of light that sat inside him followed Richard’s path and vanished into the sewers.

Anaesthesia took a deep breath. She looked up to the tree above her, reached up as one of the branches reached down, and began to climb. 

Having never climbed a tree before, Anaesthesia had thought it would be hard. She’d been prepared for her muscles to ache as she pulled herself up, and her breath to catch in her throat. But it seemed like this was just another advantage of being dead – she couldn’t feel pain. 

So the climb up the Tyburn tree wasn’t easy, precisely, but neither was it hard. 

Anaesthesia climbed higher and higher. She looked down on the Arch, pristine marble smeared with pigeon shit. Down on the tops of the natural trees, leaves dark and shifting. She climbed higher than the buildings near the square, and then higher still. Anaesthesia kept climbing until the city turned to a tracery of lights beneath her. 

Then, hanging from a branch and heart thumping in her chest, she looked down. 

London spread itself below her, glimmering. The lights of the city flickered on the surface of the Thames, and the golden glow of a million souls shone in her view. She even saw that particular bright spot that was Richard, moving under the streets. The light from a silver branched wrapped around his golden fire, and it made her smile to see the sheer brightness of his life.

Anaesthesia laughed. This was _her_ city. Up here, it was all clear, and even the worst memories couldn’t take that away. 

She was London, after all. She reached out to embrace her home.


End file.
